


In desperation, call my name

by SelenaEstella



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, M/M, Male Solo, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Fantasy, porn with (some) plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaEstella/pseuds/SelenaEstella
Summary: 'Do you like this, shinigami? Want my hands all over you, want me touching you, tasting you?'It's something he can't have, and he knows it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for months, and I _really_ want to continue it, but I'm having such a hard time thinking of a plot. or maybe it doesn't need a plot. either way, feedback is much appreciated! Also, the changes in tense are deliberate, but if they don't work as well as I think they do, let me know. Thanks for reading!

Ichigo fell through the window and onto his bed, head spinning, heart pounding, lips stinging and hot. Staring wide-eyed up at his ceiling he lifted a hand to his mouth, then brought it higher, to tug at his hair and cover his eyes as a wide smile lit up his face.

He was shaking still, but not with pain, not with fear. He gripped the sheets with his other hand and breathed hard, cheeks flushing darker as he remembered exactly what had happened.

They'd been meeting for a while by then. Clashing over and over on the white desert sands, blood boiling their veins from the thrill. What had started as accepting Grimmjow’s challenge, a chore really, had turned into almost weekly stress relief, a chance for Ichigo fight someone he wouldn't worry about hurting, in a place he couldn't easily destroy. It had been so damn cathartic that Ichigo had soon found himself looking forward to it.

Then it had become more. Ichigo had forgotten that he genuinely liked to fight, how _good_ it felt to flex his power and test himself. Without the crushing pressure of lives at stake, battle had become _fun_ again. And Grimmjow… Grimmjow had changed, or… was changing, at least.

He still met Ichigo with that maniac grin, spitting insults and promising death, but the fury in his eyes was no longer quite so desperate. Ichigo could feel it whenever their swords struck—before Grimmjow used his Resureccion, emotions rang through his blade: anger and disgust shifting slowly towards grudging respect as Ichigo met his attacks and countered his moves. Hatred giving way to excitement the more they fought. He enjoyed it as much as Ichigo.

There’s been lust, too, sometimes. Fleetingly. Not just in Pantera, but in the lingering stares after their fights, when Ichigo would strip off his kosode and wipe the sand and sweat off his chest. When he’d sprawl on an outcrop of rock to rest a while before heading back home. When he’d invite himself to Las Noches lounge around and just… relax.

And Ichigo…

Ichigo knew he wasn't straight. While he didn't consider himself especially attracted to guys, he'd had enough awkward kid crushes to work out that he was bi. Attraction, orientation, relationships—it had all taken a back seat in the last few years, and he'd never cared much anyway. As a child he’d figured he’d do the ‘meet someone, settle down, have a family’ thing because, well, that was what was done. As a teen he’d decided he’d work it out later.

Now though…

Ichigo kept his eyes closed tight, biting his lip as he let his mind run wild. He thought back to Grimmjow pressing him against the rough stone wall, remembered the look of _want_ in his eyes. Imagined the heavy taste of musk and sweat that must’ve been on Grimmjow’s skin. Thought about his chest, his abs, perfectly defined muscle beneath the scars. Thought… _lower_.

Ichigo’s cheeks darkened even further as he thought about what Grimmjow must look like beneath the loose fitting hakama. He’d caught glimpses of skin through the gaps over his thighs, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted _more_.

His breathing hitched. In another second he was undoing his fly and shoving his free hand down his pants. He was half hard already just _thinking_ about Grimmjow and Ichigo stroked himself almost frantically, pressing his arm over his mouth to hide the breathy gasps and pants.

_Fuck_. Grimmjow, kissing him hard, tongue thrust inside his mouth. Edge of his mask biting his cheek. Hands roving down his chest, his sides, gripping his hips with bruising force. Fingers knotted in Ichigo’s hair, wrenching his head back so sharp teeth could bite and suck at his neck.

Hands moving lower. Dipping down to give his ass a squeeze, nails sharp and perfect. Tugging his obi undone, pulling cloth away and tearing it when it won’t move fast enough. Desert air hitting his skin, his cock, _Grimmjow’s hand_ curling around him and Ichigo thrust up into his palm, breathy groan becoming a stifled laugh when he realised how desperate he must sound.

Fuck. He can imagine Grimmjow’s voice so clearly, close to his ear, deep and low like a growl. _You like that, huh?_ Ichigo moves his hand a little faster, a little rougher, twists his hand in a way that has his toes curling into the sheets, just the right side of too much.

He wishes, fuck, he _wishes_ Grimmjow was there, or that he _at least_ had another hand because there’s so much he wants to do, wants to rake his nails over his chest, grip his thigh, tug his hair, but his other arm’s too occupied keeping these _goddamn noises_ from spilling out of his throat. Fuck. His skin feels hot, slick, sticky with sweat. Ichigo wrestles frantically with his shirt for a moment before tossing it to the floor, night air raising goosebumps on his skin.

_Do you like this, shinigami? Want my hands all over you, want me touching you, tasting you? Want my mouth around your cock?_

“Yes!” Ichigo gasps, _begs_ the empty air. _Yes, fuck, suck me off_.

It’s that thought that brings him to the edge, the thought of Grimmjow on his knees, hands on Ichigo’s thighs, their eyes locking together as Grimmjow dips his head and takes him _deep_. Tight, wet heat, tongue roving down his length, teasing his slit.

Ichigo sinks his teeth into his arm and comes, hips jerking erratically in those last few seconds as his back arches off the bed, Grimmjow’s name stuttering muffled and breathless from his mouth as he pants and gasps. Lies there panting in the aftermath, bruise growing on his arm, hand still cupped around his dick as it softens and come starts to dry on his stomach. He drifts what what could be hours, heartbeat slowing gradually, breath evening out. Enough time to start feeling gross, and for shame to replace the red flush of want on his cheeks.

God… He’s screwed.

Ichigo heaves himself up and runs his cleaner hand through his hair. Picks his shirt off the floor and does a messy job at wiping himself down, still trembling ever so slightly. Tosses the shirt into the hamper to deal with later, then creeps towards the bathroom for a shower.

He stands under the cold spray and thuds his head against the tile wall a few times. What was he _thinking?_ Shit, it was one thing to daydream about it sometimes, but…

‘I jacked off while thinking of you’ isn’t something he is ever going to say, _ever_ , especially not to Grimmjow, the jerkass Arrancar who still tries to gut him whenever they make eye contact. Just because he can sense _some_ attraction there doesn’t mean they’ll reach a point where contact _isn’t_ meant to cause harm. Either he kills these feelings dead or… or he’ll have to stop fighting Grimmjow.

It _sucks_.

Ichigo drags himself back to his room and slumps face-first onto the sheets, still naked, drops of water shining on his back.

_What am I supposed to do?_

Exhaustion creeps over his mind, slowing his thoughts. The sun will be up in only a few hours time, _he’ll_ need to be up in a few hours time. Up and pretending everything’s ok.

Ichigo shifts around enough to pull the covers over himself, before rolling onto his side and giving in to the post-orgasm pleasure still tingling in his nerves. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he thought vaguely, right on the edge of sleep. Maybe things would work out.

He slept.


	2. Chapter 2

Every.

Single.

_Fucking._

Time.

Grimmjow flung himself onto his back, one leg hanging off the pillar and swinging idly into the darkness beneath. Alone in the cavernous hall, he folded his arms behind his head and glared up at the ceiling.

_Kurosaki._

Every time they fought, now, Grimmjow lusted for something more than blood. Every time he was offered that infuriating smile, Grimmjow wanted nothing more than to erase it. Than to replace it. Wanted to suck and bite and touch and kiss until the shinigami was writhing and desperate with need.

Perhaps he could admit he’d met his match. The first time Kurosaki had come waltzing back to Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow had been thrilled at the chance to take him down a peg. Yeah, he might make some enemies if he killed Soul Society’s hero, but surely no one could object to Grimmjow kicking the shit out of him. Bastard deserved it. Except…

Grimmjow frowned at the memory. At first he’d thought the dull, tired look in Kurosaki’s eyes had been boredom. That Kurosaki was so damn _confident_ in his abilities that he wasn’t even excited. Grimmjow had thrown his all into that battle, determined to break that mask, to see _fear_ in those eyes. Something about that fight still felt _off_ , like Grimmjow had missed something vital, but he must have done something right because afterwards – after they’d licked their wounds and staggered home – Ichigo came back.

Grimmjow wasn’t precisely sure when it had become a regular thing. Or when he’d started looking forward to it. But he vividly recalled when anger first became attraction, when he’d wanted a different kind of touch.

Kurosaki had struck hard and fast with his blade damn near slitting Grimmjow’s throat, blow deflected in a shower of sparks and a single drop of blood. They’d been close, world around them seething with their combined power, stone reduced to dust, sand reduced to nothing. Their eyes had locked.

Grimmjow swore he’d seen his own desire reflected in those eyes. In that split second when they clashed, and in every battle after. When their blades would lock and their hands would grapple, so _close_. When Ichigo would strip to his waist, wipe off blood and sand and sweat to reveal his perfect body. When he’d lounge beneath the moonlight to let himself heal before going home, like a fucking advertisement.

When he’d spend his spare time _chilling out_ in Las Noches’ halls as if he fucking _lived_ there.

Making himself _open_ and _easy_ to touch.

Grimmjow spent half his time trying to think of bigger and bigger hints because apparently, the wide gaps over his thighs weren’t fucking big enough. Was he reading it wrong? Was that dark, desperate light in Kurosaki’s eyes a lust for battle, nothing more? Was Grimmjow really _projecting_ that fucking badly? He hadn’t had that sort of touch since his Fraccion died. Hadn’t felt the need for it, either. There were few who could drive Grimmjow to the point of wanting to pierce them with his _other_ sword…

Smirking to himself, Grimmjow reached down with one hand and slid it idly over his thigh. He knew what humans could be like. He didn’t want to scare Kurosaki away – he’d take combat over nothing at all.

But it would be _so damn easy_ just to…

Grimmjow dipped his hand through the gap in his hakama and wrapped it around his cock. A few rough strokes and he was fully hard, thinking of Kurosaki’s body, the firm muscle beneath soft skin. _Fuck_ but he wanted to touch it, to run his hands down Ichigo’s sides, to make him twitch and gasp. To suck and bite and raise blood to just below the skin, watch it darken to purple and red. To crush their lips together before coaxing Ichigo’s tongue into his mouth, tasting each other, bodies pressed close against Las Noches’ cold stone.

Wants to break that stoic mask and hear Ichigo cry out in pleasure, not pain.

Wants to hear him _begging_ to be _fucked_.

Grimmjow pulls his jacket open with his other hand, touches his body as he thrusts into his palm. Thinks of Ichigo, sprawled beneath him all loose-limbed and moaning, pupils blown wide and overwhelmed with desire, legs clamped around Grimmjow’s waist and gasping with every powerful thrust.

“ _Yes_ …” Rapid breaths and low groans echo back across the space, and Grimmjow doesn’t bother trying to stop them. As if anyone would _dare_ walk in. He grips the edge of hollow hole and digs in with his finger nails, shudders at the bolt of pleasure-pain that sings through his nerves.

Ichigo on his hands and knees, spine bowed as he’s fucked into the mattress, clawing at the sheets. Ichigo curled over with his nails digging grooves in Grimmjow’s shoulders, riding his cock, head thrown back with a cry.

Ichigo, standing over him, hands knotted in Grimmjow’s hair, fucking Grimmjow’s throat while his moans echo back and forth. Completely _shameless_.

With his other hand, Grimmjow undoes his obi, lets cloth slide away until _everything’s_ in reach. Feels cool air hit him and hums in anticipation. Stroking himself leisurely, Grimmjow slides his hand over his sack before moving lower still, presses into the sweet spot just above his hole,

 _arches_ upwards into the spike of pleasure.

Grimmjow holds himself on the edge of orgasm, thighs trembling and taught, gasping for breath as he fights for control.

 _Not yet_.

He wants a hell of a lot more before he comes.

One hand at at mouth, Grimmjow pushes his fingers past his lips, strokes them with his tongue. Gets them as wet and slick as possible before lowering them again to rub against his hole. Relaxes as much as he can before pushing in slowly, relishing the sharp sting. Shudders of pleasure run through him and Grimmjow arches his back against the hard, cold stone, a dizzying fantasy playing out in his mind.

Kurosaki leaning over him, fucking Grimmjow with his fingers, hand tight around his cock just the right side of painful. Leaning forward to trace his tongue around the edge of Grimmjow’s other hole, nipping it was it teeth, then spreading Grimmjow’s legs as far as they’ll go so he has room to kiss and bite at Grimmjow’s throat.

Drawing away just enough to line himself up. Cock dark and proud and dripping precum. Pushing in slow, almost too slow, in one smooth movement that leaves Grimmjow aching for more.

“Kurosaki… _yes,_ fuck _, Ichigo_ …”

Grimmjow breathes in sharply, hands working faster, harder, heels pressing the stone. Makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, feeling empty in a way that has nothing to do with being _Hollow_. It’s not enough, he needs more, _fuck_ but he wants Ichigo inside him, wants that cock striking ecstasy through his veins with every thrust, wants to look up and see those eyes close with pleasure, hear him moan as he comes inside.

Grimmjow’s orgasm crashes over him in a wave that seems to last for hours, turning a stuttered gasp into a cry that echoes through the empty hall.

Feels like forever since he’s come like that, control lost, driven to the edge by fantasy, left spent and almost exhausted. Panting harshly, with trembling thighs, thoughts racing and wild.

Breath evening out, Grimmjow lay still for a moment before slowly withdrawing his fingers, feeling somehow both satisfied and even more frustrated. The ceiling slowly came back into focus, and the hall was just as empty has it had been before.

Scowling, Grimmjow tied his hakama loosely back around his waist and got to his feet, intent on finding some clean clothes and maybe another spot to fantasize. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the Shinigami acted so comfortable because he was starting to get complacent. As he dropped down onto the smooth stone floor, Grimmjow decided it was time he found out either way, damn the consequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ichigo: idk i guess a bj would be nice  
> grimmjow:  
> grimmjow: i want ichigo to raw me


End file.
